ooc: Sly's kinda both industrial and rebel. He hates teh industry, but works for it for a living. Kinda like us, how some people hate school, but yet, we have ter put up with it
IC: Sly snapped his head towards the echoing yell he heard over the calm rushing waters of the river. He moved slightly towards it, then stopped. He could recognize such a voice, the voice of something he used to torcher, and he absolutely hated torchery. Then the question came out clearer, and Sly had difficulty to what to answer.
"I ain't gonna kill you! Just please! Help me, or my Slog'll die!" Sly nearly cried, running towards the river. He nearly stumbled over unrooted tree roots, but he skidded to a stop at the soft dirt near the river. The waters sparkled under the rising dawn sun, a purple-orange color. Reeds and cattails grew in the water, under the bedded rocks. Sly frantically searched around, then seeing a top of a rounded green head. He knew it was the voice that had called out.
"Hey! You!" he shouted at the head peeking over a few reed grasses. "Please! I don't care who or what you are! Help me with my friend here, or he'll die!" Sly finally broke down on to his knees sobbing loudly. Tears ran down his slightly torn black mask, his red-yellow eyes shining from the wetness. He pleaded once more, watching the thing rise out of the reeds.